Let's Play a Game
by ThePsych-IchPotterhead
Summary: Fleur Delacour never expected to fall in love. Harry Potter never expected anyone other than his friends to look past his famous brother and see who he really was. Fate thought otherwise. This is their story. Their journey of love, friendship, and hardship. A story of how a misunderstood boy and girl came together to create something different. Now, let's play a game, shall we?


"Speech like this indicates the speaker is speaking in French."

Also, I am making the Marauders and all of their yearmates five years older, which makes them born in '55. Also, Gabrielle Delacour is in Benji's year.

Disclaimer: No. No matter how much I dream about it, I do not own Harry Potter.

Wyatt: You dream about that sort of thing? o.O

...oh, what do you know? You're only nine!

Wyatt: Younger than you'll ever be again.

...moving on now.

* * *

Fleur Delacour was busy preparing herself for another year of school, but her last year of schooling at Beauxbatons came with a twist. This year, she, along with her yearmates and her younger sister, Gabrielle, were travelling to Hogwarts to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. She was interested to see what the Boy Who Lived, Benjamin Potter, would be like; even though he would only be in his fourth year at Hogwarts.

Everyone knew the story of the famous, glorified Boy Who Lived. It had been a cold, stormy Halloween night, and Benjamin had been four years old. He had two older brothers; one that Fleur did not know the name of, the middle child, and the eldest, Wyatt, who had died to save his younger brother. Out of all three children, Benjamin had been the only one born in July, the other two had both been born in March.

Anyways, no one knew exactly how, but Benjamin Potter, a mere four year old, had vanquished the Dark Lord. He'd then been forever marked as, 'The Boy Who Lived', and his brother Wyatt had always been remembered as 'The Boy Who Died'. It was rather crude, but it fit the situation.

§

Little did Fleur know, somewhere quite some distance away from her, another soul was thinking about Benjamin Potter. But, for Harry, The Boy Who Lived was simply known as 'Benji', his ultra annoying, ADHD, hyperactive younger brother who was destined to either die at the hands of the Dark Lord, or suffer through hardships to kill the most evil Dark Wizard of all times. So, basically, it was a messed up situation for his baby brother.

Harry didn't mind much that not that many people remembered him; or, at least, that was what he had convinced himself. He knew that, deep down, he craved his parents' attention more than anything in the world. He'd always been slightly neglected; being the middle child, but after Wyatt had been killed and Benji proclaimed the Boy Who Lived, Harry had been put at the very back of his parent's mind.

Harry, though he had been only seven years old on that fateful night, had been absolutely devastated. Wyatt had been nine years old, and Harry's best friend. Wyatt had always been there for Harry, especially after Benjamin had been born and Harry once again lost his parent's attention, and Harry knew deep in his heart that Wyatt had loved him more than Benji. But, Wyatt didn't want either of his brothers to die, and had died to save both of them, even though his sacrifice had only really been used by Benji. It was a slight bitterness and contempt that Harry held to Benji that kept them from becoming bonded like Harry and Wyatt had been.

Harry knew it wasn't good to be bitter, but he couldn't help what he felt. He knew deep down that it was all Benji's fault that Wyatt had died, that Wyatt wasn't here now to help him and be there supporting him as his Quidditch career picked up speed. It was Benji's fault that his parent's didn't spare him a second glance, never came to his Quidditch matches, never asked about his grades, his friends, or relationships.

Though, Harry reasoned, it might be a good thing they didn't ask about his friends. Harry was a Ravenclaw, and thoroughly happy to be so, and had many good friends in that house, including Roger Davies and Eustace McMillan, and then there was Cedric Diggory of Hufflepuff. But, he also had friends in Slytherin. Koleston Malfoy was by far Harry's best friend. Going against the normal pureblood enigma, Lucius Malfoy had never joined forced with the Dark Lord, and he, his wife Narcissa, and his two sons, Koleston and Draco, were perfectly happy to remain neutral, but James Potter was far too prejudice to ever understand that.

Harry would simply have to bare his parents' neglect for one more year, and then he'd be done with school and he could leave the Potter ancestral home forever. After all, he was never really alone, he thought pensively as he smiled at the picture of a messy brown haired boy with sparkling hazel eyes, arm slung around a boy smaller than him, both making funny faces and smiling cheekily at one another.

§

"Fleur! I'm so excited! I can't believe I get to come with you to see Hogwarts!" rapid French exited the mouth of one Gabrielle Delacour, who was fourteen years old, and very hyper, and acted very unladylike, which was frowned upon when you were French in a foreign country, but even more so when you were half-veela.

"Calm down, Gabi," Fleur chuckled, rolling her eyes at her best friend, Marie Aguillard, who had long, dark brunette curls and golden brown eyes. Gabrielle was basically a mini-Fleur, minus the curves that came with puberty, obviously, as veela went through puberty at fifteen, with the same long silvery blond hair and baby blue/silver eyes.

"WE'RE HERE!" came Gabrielle's excited squeak, practically smushing her face to the window of the housing compartment that she would be sharing with Fleur and Marie.

"Well, Marie, let's go get a good look at Hogwarts." The two French girls, clad in their blue silk uniforms, walked out gracefully following Madame Maxime. They were greeted by Albus Dumbledore, the elderly Headmaster of Hogwarts who had more titles than Fleur cared to remember. With him stood the seventh years of Hogwarts, the only ones eligible to compete in the tournament. Fleur scanned the potential competition, sizing them up. There was an ash blond boy in the center, with silvery grey eyes and wearing robes with a tie colored green, smirking at the French students, poised as if he was superior. No, Fleur wouldn't have to worry about him.

To the boy's left were three boys, a sandy brown haired boy with a blue tie to match his eyes, a curly blond haired boy who wore a similar blue tie, only with brown eyes, and a tall, dark brown haired boy with a yellow tie and a kind smile that warmed his dark brown eyes even more. Him she might have to watch out for. The boy to his right, though, thoroughly captured her attention.

He was tall, at a good 6 feet tall, and was well toned for his age, obviously as the result of much physical training. He had wavy dark auburn hair that was spelled to spike up at the top, and he was wearing a black beanie, though she was positive that those hats were not proper Hogwarts wear. He had a blue tie, like the two boys directly to the left of the blond, and a dazzling white smile that she caught sight of as he laughed with the blond. But what made him stand out the most his eyes. One was the most brilliant emerald green she had ever seen, but the other was a warm goldeny-hazel color. It was unlike anything Fleur had ever seen.

"Hello! Earth to Fleur!" called Marie, pulling Fleur along with her to the Great Hall. "Where should we sit?"

"The table with those with blue ties," said Fleur immediately, as she spoke for the students of Beauxbatons. She was like their leader. Fleur noted dully that some boys were drooling at her, but she was used to that by now.

"Oooh," said Marie, raising her eyebrows suggestively. "Has a boy caught your attention, Fleur? I personally like the one with the sandy brown hair and blue eyes. I think his friends called him Roger. What about you? I bet its the one with different colored eyes." Fleur just blushed and sat down next to the girls, opposite of the boys, and began to socialize.

§

Harry knew that his eyes had slightly unnerved the half-veela beauty, Fleur Delacour. He only knew that she was half-veela since his friends had been turned into drooling, ogling puddles of goo as soon as she had exited the French carriage. He was immune to that, which was, like his eyes, a gift from his... condition.

He, Harry James Potter, was a phasmapuerem, infected with phaspurus, an extremely rare magical disease only known to exist in the Potter line. It had no fatal effects, but caused Harry to be immune to the effects of any other magical creatures, have strange eye colorings, and, when he wanted to, he could become like a ghost, and float through walls and fly, that sort of thing.

The only people who knew of his condition were his four best friends, his parents, Benji and Dumbledore, though he suspected Sirius might know, and Harry fully intended to keep it that way.

Of course, though, every blessing came with a curse, and Harry hadn't ever fully revealed the full extent of his beastliness. If he had, he'd probably be locked up somewhere for examination.

He shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts, and smiled at two of his closest friends, Roger Davies and Eustace McMillan.

"So, who d'ya think good ole Kohl's gonna go after this year?" asked the sandy haired boy to his right. Harry scoffed.

"You honestly think that Kohl is only going to go after one girl this year?" he asked incredulously, cocking an eyebrow up. "Are we talking about the same Kohl here? Koleston Malfoy? Playboy and cocky pureblood supreme?" Eustace howled with laughter while Roger just mumbled to himself, obviously angered at being double teamed by Harry and Eustace.

"Iz zat all boyz talk about?" came a heavily accented voice from across Harry and his friends. The auburn haired boy turned to see the French girl that had been 'checking him out', according to Kohl, earlier. His friends once again turned into puddles of goo, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"No, I think it's just them. Despite us being Ravenclaws, you wouldn't believe how perverse those two are." The French girl's eyes widened, and Roger and Eustace looked affronted. They might not speak French fluently, but they knew when they were being insulted.

"You speak French?"

"No. This is all in your mind. Duh."

"You don't have to be so condescending," the girl shot back, and Harry just grinned cheekily.

"Condescending is my middle name."

"You must have awful parents to give you a middle name as horrible as 'condescending'," Fleur shot back, raising a silvery blond eyebrow.

"Somehow I think my actual middle name is worse," Harry responded bitterly.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's James. After my father. Arrogant big-shot expects me to be just like him. But nooo I just had to get into Ravenclaw and end the streak off my entire family being in Gryffindor. But my precious baby brother makes up for that- Y'know, I don't even know why I'm telling you this. The name's Harry. Harry Potter." Fleur's jaw dropped considerably, and Harry scowled.

"Potter, as in the brother of-"

"Nevermind. Talk to you later." And with that, Harry walked away, silently fuming, his friends Roger and Eustace trailing after him

§

"Oi! Why are you guys here early?" questioned Kohl, walking into the Room of Requirement, which had been turned into a giant indoor Quidditch pitch. The ash blond gripped his broom tighter. "Or are Ced and I late?"

"Nah," said Roger, waving his hand, beckoning them over. "Harry just left early in a huff."

"Sheesh," said Kohl, gazing over his best friend. "Who killed your puppy?" Harry scowled, and Roger howled with laughter.

"Nobody, just I think Frenchi insulted him, but I don't know, they were speaking in French." His eyes narrowed. "When exactly did you learn French?"

Harry's scowl deepened as he blushed.

"Before I came to Hogwarts, I got really bored, since my parents hardly spared me a second glance, they were too busy fretting over dear little Benji. I'm fluent in British English, American English - which is harder than it looks, I can do the accent and everything! - French, Spanish, Latin - which is good for spell crafting - Russian, Vietnamese, Swahili, Irish, German, and Italian." The boys let out low whistles and Harry blushed again.

"But that's besides the point!" he waved his hands over his head. "We need to play; since Dumbledore thought that we couldn't handle Quidditch with the tournament going on. Thank Merlin that there were scouts for the U-17 summer league, or we would have never made it to the professionals." All five boys smirked at each other.

Over the summer, they had all competed in one of the U-17 Summer Quidditch Leagues, and had been on the team 'London Lynxes'. There had been scouts at their last game, and all five had been recruited to different teams. Cedric to Puddlemore United; Eustace to the Montrose Magpies; Roger to the Wimbourne Wasps; and Harry and Kohl to the Appleby Arrows (they were inseparable; it was only fitting they be drafted to the same team).

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked Kohl. "Let's practice!"

§

"The Hogwarts champion - Cedric Diggory!" Harry and his friends let out large cheers for their friend as he walked to the champion's room victoriously, joining Viktor Krum and Frenchi; as Kohl had nicknamed her.

"Well done all! Now, for further-" Dumbledore was cut off as the blue flames of the Goblet of Fire flickered red once more, and another burnt piece of parchment fluttered out into his outstretched hand. Dumbledore's eyes widened.

"Benjamin Potter." There was a mumbling in the crowd, and Harry watched murderously as his younger brother was pushed forward by one Hermione Granger to step forward.

Oh, Benji was in for some deep shit.

§

"You know I didn't put my name in there, right?" Benjamin asked his two best friends, who nodded loyally.

"You'd have to be mental to put your name in," said Ron. Hermione was just about to make an input when Benjamin was suddenly grabbed by the neck and shoved into the wall by none other than his older brother; Harry Potter.

"What the hell were you thinking!?" he roared, making the youngest Potter shrink under his cold, multi-colored glare. "You already have fame, glory, and money, so why the hell are you putting your life at risk?!" Benji was about to make a smart retort, but his older brother cut him off.

"I've had it with you, Benjamin Alexander Potter!" he growled. "First year, with the stone incident, second year with the basilisk, third year with Pettigrew and now this?! WYATT DIED FOR YOU! ARE YOU GOING TO PAY HIM BACK BY DYING!" Benji seemed to shrink, but Harry wasn't done.

"God dammit, Benji, it's ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT THAT WYATT IS DEAD!" Harry was now shaking with rage. "IF YOU HADN'T BEEN INVOLVED IN SOME STUPID PROPHECY, HE WOULDN'T HAVE DIED! YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED THAT NIGHT! NOT! HIM!" Benji noticed for a moment that the skin on Harry's face seemed to deteriorate, and his bones becoming more prominent on his hands as Harry's skin slowly lost pigmentation; but before he could make a comment, Harry was gone.

"You're brother sure is scary," said Ron, who had been frozen the entire ordeal. All Benji could do was nod mutely before walking away.

§

It was well past midnight when Harry finally dragged himself back to Ravenclaw tower, took a pepper-up potion and sat down on his bed, sighing. From underneath his pillow, he pulled out a worn-looking, tattered, leather-bound photo album, and opened to the front page.

Delicately taped on the front page was a picture of a baby boy with spiky chestnut brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. The writing at the bottom of the moving picture read, 'Baby Wyatt Charlus Potter - March 9, 1975'. Harry smiled as the image of the baby looked up at him, hazel eyes sparkling, as he reached for the camera. Flipping the frayed pages, Harry let the memories overtake him as he saw the pictures of him and his brother, and paused at the one titled: "The Boys Carving Pumpkins - October 30, 1984". Harry's fists clenched.

The three boys were all smiling cheekily at the camera, Wyatt and Harry sharing mischievous glances before they dumped pumpkin guts on their younger brother's head, causing Benji to glare and throw pumpkin innards back at them in retaliation, before it escalated to a full blown war. They hadn't know it would be the last picture of Wyatt alive.

Harry sighed and turned the page, to the last picture of the photo album. The picture was taken at night, under an umbrella, as it was raining outside. A seven year old Harry was sitting down, back to the camera, fashionably styled auburn hair visible over the black cloak he wore. In front of him was a large monument, under which his brother was buried. The statue was that of Wyatt, grinning happily as he clutched a broom - a Nimbus 1900; a statue-fied Harry standing next to him, also grinning, Wyatt's free arm slung around his brother. Little Benji was sitting down in front of them, smiling innocently with what appeared to be the innards of a pumpkin splattered atop his messy black hair.

In the picture, the only movement was the falling of the rain, and the heaving of the young boy's shoulders to indicate that he was crying for the loss of his brother, his best friend, his partner in crime, the only one who ever really cared about him.

Harry wiped stray tears from his eyes. He knew that Wyatt wouldn't have wanted him to snap at Benji; but Harry had always wanted to get that feeling off of his chest, and he finally had. He would always stop and wonder what Wyatt would be like now. He'd be out of Hogwarts, and he'd be a player for the England National Quidditch team, like he'd always dreamed about, as seeker. Later, he'd retire and spend the rest of his life as a coach, or an unspeakable, like he'd talked about for hours upon hours with Harry.

He'd have married Nymphadora Tonks, the girl he'd had a crush on since he was seven, who was a whole year older than him. They would have had a son, whom Wyatt had always sworn he'd name his firstborn Charlus, after his favorite grandfather and middle name, and Harry would have been his godfather.

He would have been an animagus, a border collie, which was his favorite animal of all time.

But, above all, Wyatt would have been happy.

He would have loved his family with all his heart, but would always have a special place there for Harry.

He would be Uncle Wyatt to Harry's children, and a loving father and husband and friend to all.

But he wasn't there.

And Harry could not dwell on what could have been and forget to live.

But; moving on isn't forgetting. It's about choosing to consider all the good things in life and keep living for all those that never had the opportunity to.


End file.
